


the debts we owe

by Chierei



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Oswald Cobblepot, Car Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Season/Series 04, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: When Penguin first came to him, needing someone to inform and be under his thumb at the GCPD, he had said no. He had spat it in his face, slammed the proverbial door. He had been prepared to die with his hard-won principles in-tact. But then he made a fatal mistake. It was the same mistake everyone made.He let Cobblepottalk.
Relationships: Harvey Bullock/Oswald Cobblepot
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	the debts we owe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ocp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocp/gifts).



> Commission for [orcaputt](https://twitter.com/orcaputt) who requested S4 Harveywald and car sex.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Harvey hit his head on his steering wheel, softly cursing under his breath with each impact. What was he doing here? Parked in some dark alleyway on the outskirts of town, far away from the GCPD, so no one would recognize him.

Far away from Jim.

God, this was a mistake. Harvey had known it was a mistake from the first day, the first second, when all he could see in his mind was Jim’s disappointment and anger. Harvey almost missed the days when he didn’t care—where corruption was just another day on the job, and his only goal in life was to finish his shift quickly so he could return home to drink himself to sleep. But Jim _fucking_ Gordon had to happen, and now it made every fiber in his body want to revolt at what he was doing.

“Now, now, Captain,” a familiar voice said, making Harvey stop. He watched as Oswald Cobblepot opened his door and slid into the passenger seat of his beat-up sedan. “What ever is troubling you?”

Cobblepot. The root of all of his problems.

When Penguin first came to him, needing someone to inform and be under his thumb at the GCPD, he had said no. He had spat it in his face, slammed the proverbial door. He had been prepared to die with his hard-won principles in-tact. But then he made a fatal mistake. It was the same mistake everyone made.

He let Cobblepot _talk_.

God, and Cobblepot could probably talk anyone into selling out their own mother. He was slick and smooth with his words, charming when he wanted to be, and _he had a point_. Penguin could have him replaced as captain with a single phone call, and wasn’t it better to work from the inside? Because the next person might not have the same scruples as he did.

And, as much as it shamed him to even think, the money. Harvey was up to his eyeballs in bills—medical bills, loans, every dollar that Harvey had let slip away from him over the years when he was drinking whiskey more than water. And when Penguin offered him a fat envelope, stuffed with enough money to cover himself for a month and then some, God help him, he said yes.

But it haunted him. It had haunted him every time he opened his door to find instructions waiting for him next to an unmarked envelope. It haunted him every time he told one of his men to let a perp walk because he had one of those licenses. It hurt every time Jim even looked at him.

The worst was when he had to meet with Penguin in person. Once a month, when he had to give up all of the dirty secrets he knew of good, honest cops to the man. But it was better that it was him, he always told himself, better that it was Harvey who had enough lingering belief that Gotham could be good.

It had to be better because he didn’t know if he could live with himself if it wasn’t.

“Nothing,” Harvey said, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair, already pulling out his flask from his jacket pocket to take a long swig. The alcohol burned going down.

Penguin’s eyes were sharp, even in the dark shadows of Gotham. Those eyes were always shrewd, and Harvey often felt like an idiot for not seeing it when he was an umbrella boy. But Oswald Cobblepot had pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes, not just his.

The thought didn’t comfort him as much as he wished.

“Not thinking about leaving our little agreement, are we, Captain Bullock?” Penguin said. His tie pin, a shining ruby that was the size of a penny and worth more than Harvey made in a year, reflected an eerie orange in the lamplight.

Harvey didn’t answer.

“I thought we were getting along so well, though,” Cobblepot said, turning to face him.

Harvey could see the way his lips played at a victorious smile, and it made Harvey want to punch him in the face. “Jim is—”

“Jim Gordon is your responsibility,” Penguin interrupted. “That was part of the deal. You reign in our dear Detective Gordon, you provide me whatever information I want, and you back my licenses. And in exchange, I won’t kill you and dump your body into the harbor. Not to mention my incredibly generous financial contribution.”

“That was before cops started dying,” Harvey said. “Before cops on _your payroll_ started dying. This Pyg character is—”

“I’ll handle Pyg,” Penguin said, seemingly unconcerned. “You just keep Jim Gordon out of the way.”

That wasn’t comforting in the slightest. He hated how this felt, to be under Penguin’s thumb. And just the thought of what Jim would think if he knew was enough to make Harvey hesitate.

Penguin sighed. It was heavy and exasperated. “Do we really need to go over this again? I thought we had an understanding. Now, the documents I wanted. Where are they?”

Harvey handed them over, not looking at the man. He couldn’t bear to look at his own shame staring back at him as he handed over a thick file, full of secrets. It was just another piece of whatever game Cobblepot was playing.

Penguin flipped through it, giving the information a cursory glance. He didn’t need to—for all Harvey’s protests, he knew that if it wasn’t perfect, there was likely to be a bullet with his name on it. It was more just to make Harvey sweat it out, to make him remember who was in control here. “You know,” Penguin said, as he turned the page. “You really should relax, Captain Bullock. Are you sleeping enough?” There was a sly insinuation there, a curving hint of knowing.

“What are you talking about?”

Penguin’s lips curved into a smirk as he looked up. He always made Harvey feel exposed, like all his life was written on his skin. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you’d like, I can...assist you.”

“ _What?_ ” Harvey squawked, voice going embarrassingly high. Was Penguin—?

“I own several brothels around town,” Penguin continued as though he had said nothing out of the ordinary. “Anything you want. You could consider it a bonus, for good work.” Then he paused and, acting scandalized, he said, “Oh? Were you expecting something else?”

Harvey didn’t know what to say. His mouth opened and closed, protests ready on his lips.

Cobblepot set the files aside and stretched his shoulders back so he could give Harvey a good once over. “I’ve heard the rumors, you know,” he said. “Fish’s girls used to always talk. Some of her boys too.” One hand snaked over, gloved, and rested high on Harvey’s thigh.

And it had been too long since someone had touched him. So many weeks and months of nothing but a bottle of whiskey and his own hand to greet him at night. And that was the only reason, he told himself, that his cock twitched.

“I guess I haven’t been properly grateful,” Cobblepot said, voice low and, god forbid, _seductive_. His hand slowly inched forward, and Harvey had every chance to knock it aside, to stop him, but instead, he sat there, half-hard and dumbfounded. “After all, we both know keeping Jim Gordon out of trouble is a full-time job. I suppose you deserve a little...reward.” He cupped Harvey through his slacks, pressing down with the palm of his hand.

Harvey hissed. Fuck, he couldn’t believe how good it felt. But a hand was a hand, even if it was attached to Penguin.

Penguin massaged the growing bulge, running his fingers expertly up and down the sides, teasing. He kept his eyes trained on Harvey’s face even as he slowly stripped off his gloves and placed them inside his suit pocket. He undid Harvey’s belt with deft fingers and then slipped his hand into Harvey’s slacks and—

 _Fuck_. He squeezed at Harvey’s cock, one hand pumping it even as he pulled it out. The cold air didn’t do anything to dissuade it, only making Harvey groan.

“Good to know that the rumors are true,” Penguin said, leaning in. He licked his lips as he stroked Harvey.

“R-rumors?” Harvey managed to say, trying his best not to buck into the feeling of someone’s hand on him.

Penguin leaned in closer until Harvey could feel his breath against his ear. “Yes, all the girls and boys used to talk about how you just had the biggest cock and that you weren’t half-bad at using it.” He twisted his wrist as he spoke, rubbing that sensitive spot just below the head.

“Didn’t think you were the type to gossip,” Harvey said, breathing heavy and trying to lay on his usual sarcasm. It lost most of its effect, though, when he moaned out the last syllable as Cobblepot worked his cock like a professional.

“Gossip is useful, Captain,” Penguin said, nipping at his ear. “You learn all sorts of secrets. Did you want to hear a secret?”

Harvey whimpered. Penguin was touching his cock with both of his hands now, touching and squeezing, and it was almost too much.

“I’ll tell you since you are being _so_ good,” he said. “After all of this, after tonight, you are going to keep bringing me everything I ask. You’ll sign off on my licenses, you’ll run interference with Jim, and you’ll do exactly what I tell you to do. And you’ll take all that dirty money that I give you, and you’ll continue to send flowers to all those graves of people you couldn’t save and buy all that booze you drink to help you forget. And after all of that, you’ll still remember how badly you wanted this.” He squeezed his cock, almost painfully tight, but it only made Harvey groan. “Because I own you, Harvey Bullock. I own every part of you. I own your job, your life, your cock,” and he twisted his wrist again to emphasize it. “Now, you are going to beg me to suck your cock.”

Harvey hated how much it was true, how helpless he was, and how he opened his mouth and begged. “Please, suck my cock.”

“Again,” Penguin said, running his tongue on the edges of Harvey’s ear.

“Please, suck my cock. Please, I need you to suck my cock.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Harvey didn’t know how anyone could look so proper while preparing to suck cock, but Cobblepot managed it. The angle was awkward, with Harvey still in the driver’s seat and Penguin’s bent over the gear shift, but it was one of the best damn blowjobs he had ever received. Penguin’s mouth was hot and wet, and he swallowed him down like a champion. Harvey gripped the doorjamb with one hand, trying to stop himself from holding onto the back of Penguin’s head and just fucking that sweet, warm mouth.

Cobblepot made almost obscene slurping noises as he bobbed his head up and down on his cock. It was lewd, and Harvey wished he could see him better. He wished that they were outside perhaps, standing, so Harvey could look down and see those pretty lips stretched around his dick.

The idea of it, the thought of Cobblepot’s eyes wide and mouth open as he lapped at his cock, made him moan. Because he knew those eyes would still tell him who was really in control of the situation. The thought—Harvey bit his lip, suppressing a shout because—

And then Penguin stopped. He pulled that glorious heat away, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of one hand, and he kissed Harvey.

Penguin kissed like he lived—hard and fast. He took everything Harvey could give him and then challenged him for more.

When they broke the kiss, Harvey was breathless. He felt a modicum of pride that Penguin looked just a little ruffled himself.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Penguin asked, hand still ghosting over his leaking cock. “Did you want to fuck me with your nice, fat cock, Captain Bullock?”

Harvey whined and nodded, hips rocking to try and chase the feeling.

“Ask for it.”

“Please, Jesus, let me fuck you. Please.” Harvey was beyond feeling shame. All he wanted was to feel that hot mouth on him again, to be touched until he could come and feel that moment of ecstasy. “Please, fuck, use my cock. I want to fuck you, please.”

His car wasn’t made for these sorts of trysts, but Penguin stripped himself from the waist down in almost clinical efficiency. Harvey has vindicated to see that he wasn’t the only one hard. Penguin’s cock was leaking, leaving a wet spot on the front of his underwear—a pair of lacy black panties that Harvey didn’t need to know was underneath those suits.

Penguin pulled out Harvey’s wallet from his front pocket and removed the lubed condom that he kept there for luck. (And Harvey didn’t want to know how he knew that—didn’t want to know if he was predictable or it was a lucky guess or that he just _knew_ the way he always seemed to know everything.)

He rolled the condom down Harvey’s cock, the tight squeeze of the latex making him curse.

“Now,” Penguin said, swinging one leg over Harvey’s lap so he could straddle the man. “I want you to work me open with your fingers.” He brought one of Harvey’s hands to his mouth and wet them, running his tongue over three of his fingers. He looked Harvey in the eye as he did it, let him see the wet slide of his tongue down one finger or the soft ‘pop’ as he pulled another out of his mouth. It was dirty and erotic, and the sight was enough to almost make him come.

Harvey slipped the first finger into Cobblepot. He was tight, and his body was burning but gave little resistance. Harvey wondered how many times Cobblepot did this—how many of his men that Cobblepot fucked, how many whose loyalty he bought with this body. The thought made him angry for some reason, that Harvey was just another one of his toys. So, he pushed a second finger in, right after the first, too soon for it to be comfortable.

And Penguin hissed at the pain, but he didn’t complain. “Is that all you got?” he challenged through half-lidded eyes as he rocked back into the fingers.

“No, doll,” Harvey said, voice ruined. “Not even close.”

Penguin grinned. “Good.”

Harvey fucked him roughly on two of his fingers. Saliva was the worst type of lubrication, and his fingers were basically dry. But Cobblepot didn’t seem to care, only moaning when Harvey slipped a third finger into his body. (It made him remember those rumors, from long ago, of Fish’s little umbrella boy and the Foxglove, comments made between drinks and Oswald Cobblepot’s downturned face.)

“Fuck me,” Penguin said, grabbing Harvey by the wrist to pull out his fingers.

The space was suboptimal, but it only took a few moments of jostling before he could feel Penguin sink down on his cock. Penguin threw his head back and closed his eyes as he worked himself up and down on Harvey, accepting his cock inch by inch. It couldn’t be comfortable for him, not with his ruined ankle, but he didn’t seem to care.

Harvey bucked up, slowly, trying not to come immediately at the feeling of fucking a man. He had been comfortably bisexual most of his life, though his preference was for women over men. And he hadn’t been with a man in a long time, had forgotten how different it was. Women were wet and warm, soft curves and soft squeals as he fucked them.

Cobblepot was anything but. He was hot, burning almost, and his ass squeezed Harvey into a vice-like grip. He dug his nails into Harvey’s arms as he rode him in short, choppy movements. His moans were ragged and deep, edged with threats and challenges. This was Oswald Cobblepot behind all the fancy suits and pretty words, stripped down to the feral wants and needs.

Harvey placed his hands under Cobblepot’s ass, lifting him up and down on his cock. He braced his feet in the ground, using what little leverage he had to fuck up into the smaller man. He was so close—he could feel the pressure building up low in his stomach, and he wondered what Cobblepot would look like in the full light, what he’d look like if Harvey spread him out on a bed and fucked his pretty little ass so hard he’d feel it for a week. What the man would look like covered in come, his fucked out hole red and puffy and leaking from Harvey and—

Harvey screamed as he came, a noise that was only half-swallowed by the ragged open-mouthed kiss Cobblepot gave him. It was more teeth than tongue, but it reminded Harvey that he wasn’t alone, and he wrapped his large hands around Penguin’s leaking cock and one, two, and he was coming too, coming with long white streaks of come covering Harvey’s chest.

Harvey was barely coherent when Penguin dismounted him. The man was dressed in what must have been record time, and by the time Harvey's heart rate had returned to somewhere in the realm of normal, he looked impeccable. No one would have been able to know that he had just fucked Harvey in the front seat of his car. The only evidence of it was the cooling come on his shirt and the used condom.

Penguin made a show of touching up his lipstick with a small compact that he shut with a sharp snap. “Remember what I said, Captain Bullock,” he said with a smile, smarmy and satisfied as he gathered the forgotten file into his arms. “And it was a pleasure doing business with you.” He pulled out an unmarked white envelope from one of the inside pockets of his suit jacket and laid it on the front console.

And then he was gone, leaving Harvey behind with an envelope full of money and the feeling that he had just lost more than he knew.

**Author's Note:**

> A wonderful break from my NaNoWriMo goals to write this commission for Orca who joins me as one of maybe three (3) people who wanted some Harveywald. <3 Specifically, S4 Harveywald when, you know, Oswald was literally paying Harvey. 
> 
> As always, you can always find me on [Tumblr](https://chierei.tumblr.com), if you want any updates or to chat. Please also take a moment to drop me a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
